Rebuild The Sandcastle
by PonderousEvid
Summary: After a year of painful separation, a man walked back into Liu Feilong's life. Along the course of struggle and death new acquaintances are made, feelings to sorted out, and true love to be treasured.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: Feilong, Yanzhui, Mikhail, Yoh & Tao belong to Yamane Ayano sensei, the rest belong to me. .  
><strong>Central Pairings: <strong>FeilongxMikhail. [For this chapter, Feilong & Yanzhui]  
><strong>Rating:<strong> M | **Warning:** A little sexual graphic but no major smex.

Yanzhui ushered a stack of brochures on the table next to the vase and sat himself back on the couch. "Go over them quickly, Fei. And pick one," the older Chinese man spoke with a hint of indolent amusement in his voice before he took a sip of his tea. He pretended to shift his gaze towards the window, paying no heed to Feilong's current expression, and decided to give it a few minutes before he should speak again.

"Huh . . . ?'  
>Still with both hands remained on the sides of his laps Feilong arched his brow slightly, then glanced down at the materials and back at the other man before him. He wondered what Yan was up to now, he wanted to ask, but upon sensing the unspoken impatience in the man's tone and expression he decided against it. This 'go over and just pick one' order did not seem like something that worth worrying over for, at least not in Feilong's opinion. Picking up a couple of brochures now with his slender fingers Feilong scanned them quietly. From the first touch alone he could immediately tell that these are some fairly high quality papers, sold on high price and reserved for private use only. They were the same ones he used to see and work with during the old day as the leader of Baishe. Sighing he flipped the pages. Even though his eyes remained on the breathtaking pictures of luxurious beaches and glowing penthouses Feilong's mind was wandering elsewhere. His attention was only brought back to reality when he heard Yan calling his name sharply, "Fei," and then a hateful scorn, "this really shouldn't take you more than a few seconds."<p>

Feilong grimaced as he forced himself to read over the materials again. They were all about the world's best vacation spots, ranged from some located in China to all the way to Florida, Caico, Switzerland, Caribbean and etc cetera. Feilong has been to most of these places during his boring business trips. Somehow, it amazed him that he missed out all these wonderful locations and opportunities. It would have been great to take Tao there, too, for a relaxing weekend. Slumping his shoulders slightly Feilong finally muttered, singling out one of them as he placed the rest down on the table: "This one then."

Yanzhui held the one brochure nominated by his baby brother, and chuckled openly while he setting down his tea. "Good judgment there, Fei. It would have been alright with me if you picked another one instead, though, I did have my eyes on this one for awhile myself." Pausing for a second he continued, "it truly couldn't by anymore delightful." There was no sarcasm in any of his words. If anything, to Feilong, he thought Yanzhui's reaction at this moment borderline sincere gaiety, and satisfaction as though he has just successfully read his mind.

"Are you going to be away on a vacation or something?" Gathering his nerves Feilong kept his voice calm. "Or are you planning to buy it out yourself?" Deep down he could not help but holding onto a thin line of hope that he is going to be left alone for awhile. With Yanzhui off elsewhere, even just for one day, he would not be tormented emotionally and/or physically. Hell, he could use such opportunity to sneak out of this prison he once called his home and find Tao. Tao, when was the last time he spoke to the boy? It was only last week Feilong was able to see him, ask about the boy's well-being and school for less than ten minutes before the body guards separated them. And Yoh also, he was nowhere to be seen. . .

"Why, of course," said Yanzhui.  
>He rested his chin on the back of his hand almost languidly, and glanced over at the beautiful being across the table. "Business has been hectic lately. While I have every intention of putting it all on hold I know that it is unwise to do so. It has come to attention also that you haven't been outside for months since the day I brought you back. So what would be better than to make a little arrangement as a compromise for both of us?" The dark gleams in the older Chinese man's eyes screamed danger to Feilong. It did not take that long for Feilong to realize what the other was saying.<p>

"You want me to come with you?"  
><em>What are you planning, Yan?<em>

"The fact that you are no different than a prisoner here, in my palm, does not mean I would not choose to pamper my beloved little bird once in awhile." Yanzhui leaned in closer to the other's neck and breathed in his wonderful scent. When Feilong instinctively tried to move away he was half-expecting Yanzhui to yank on his hair with brute force like usual, but this time the man had simply captured his face with one hand, still with the same unrelenting force but with a touch of gentleness in his movement this time. Unsure how to react Feilong found himself stopped struggling and immersed under their proximity and warmth. _Something is not right_, Feilong thought.

"Beside, I thought you've always wanted me to treat you more like a human being instead of a fuck toy or a plaything." He planted a small kiss on a handful of Feilong's silky strands, then slowly trailing up more kisses to his cheek, over the left eye and forehead. "I'd admit I want nothing more than to lock you up in this bedroom, ravishing you all day long and only allow you to step outside for a fresh air here and there. But, I am more than willing to make such lovely arrangement . . . flexible. For you, for us."

Feilong shuddered as Yan whispered those words to his ears. He tried to push out the thought of Yan actually carry out his twisted desire on him and he cursed at himself for feeling momentarily grateful for the man's self-control.

"So taking me to some luxurious getaway is your idea of flexible?"  
><em>Freedom sounds tempting enough but at what price?<em>_  
><em>A sick sensation swept over him as he asked himself that question. Up until now there have been only a few selective people who were aware of his humiliating situation. Putting up with the condescending stares from Yanzhui's followers and the servants were difficult enough for him. Feilong cringed at the idea of being flaunted off like some kind of property in front of the crowd of strangers or worst, to the people whom he used to do business with and spent every waking hours building his image to earn their fear and respect. Yet, since this is the filthy rich Chinese bastard himself, Feilong had an impression that Yanzhui would have the entire place reserved, and only the invited like the business partners, himself and Feilong will have the access. Gradually his world became incoherent and blurred. His mind was distracted when the man nipped on his earlobe and Yanzhui's response came in the form of low /br/

_It is a small reward for your obedience, Fei—a well-deserved scraps of affection for a good little brother and pet._

"I think it is a fair compromise. And besides," tracing the back of a knuckle along the slight bruised skin above Feilong's cheekbones his expression lamented. For a bare second, the man's cold eyes were contorted into what seem to be guilt and sorrow. He tried to recover the mask but it slipped off again. He felt the once soft and delicate skin rugged and coarse. Judging from the way his touch stung Feilong still and watching him inched away, the discrete care from the doctor have failed miserably and he wondered if he should murder that worthless excuse of a trash right now or later. He sighed. "It looks like you could use a good beauty treatment and a manicure or two." He didn't mean to sound so melodramatic nor did he want to tease the other, but the effect was amusing enough for him to let it past. Watching Feilong shooting up a malevolent glare at him and tried to push away Yanzhui chuckled again. _I will make it up for you, my pretty little bird._

"How is it a compromise when the other party has no say in it whatsoever?" This time he found the courage to raise his voice against the man, something in which he hadn't dared in a very long time since his confinement in his lonely mansion he called prison. Yanzhui's playful demeanor caused nothing but a disturbing vibe and chill down his spine. He couldn't comprehend or make any sense of it. The more he chuckles and brushing his skin loving the more he felt the urge to run away and puke. Everything Yanzhui does to him was revolting. And yet why was he aroused now? His strength was reduced to nothingness by the man's weight on top of him. He could never get used to this feeling of utter helplessness and shame. Truly, months of undergoing abuses horrendous on every level could not offer him tolerance to the monster before him. But amidst the uncomfortable hot breaths and dripping moisture, Feilong knew that he would never want to get used to this. For it will be the day he becomes a monster himself with no hope of turning back.

Yanzhui managed to undo the troublesome buttons on the silver white cheongsam while devouring the other's mouth with a demanding kiss. Even though Feilong was not resisting him head-on, he was still denying him of the access to the cavern of warmth and saliva. During the older day all Yanzhui has to do is to make a subtle threat about the Chinese boy named Tao, or Yoh, or both, he'd have the stubborn and prideful dragon reduced into a submissive and obedient little slut, begging Yanzhui to fuck him harder and deeper until the man is fully satiated. _I must be going soft on him_, the older Chinese man thought in mockery, feeling a dangerous emotion rising as he tried to calm himself down, not wanting ruin his plan with a pointless outburst.

Yanzhui contemplated on Feilong's question and decided to ignore it because he knew the response will only aggravate him. Compromise, in his opinion, is only an option when he can still get the desired profit without sacrificing too much on his own account. It sounded contradicting to the definition of the term itself but what is the use of analyzing it any further? Feilong's intoxicating scent mingled in the fragrant of his favorite shampoo was simply heavenly. He knew that he could just take the other right now and postpone the flight schedule. While calculating and weighting out the options he did not stop sucking on the sensitive skin just above the collar bones. Hearing a painful yelp from Feilong the man suddenly drew himself away. The harsh nibbling just now will surely leave another mark on that easily bruised skin. _Damn it. Patience now, patience, I told myself that I would do this right and not give into temptation_, the older Chinese man reminded himself silently before grabbing the paper materials. With the cell phone ready in one free hand he began to dial a number while exiting the bedroom, without looking back he ordered:

"Go take a shower. Dinner should be here soon, and do take a good long rest tonight. The servants will be here to help pack your stuff. The flight schedule should be finalized by tomorrow, the guards will come to fetch for you and I expect you to be on your best behavior, Fei. Make a repeat of that last little episode of yours and I will see to it that you'd regret it thoroughly." He stressed the last word, making clear of his threat. Before the doors closed behind him Yanzhui swore he heard Feilong whimpered pitifully, perhaps it was only his imagination. There is no difference whether it was conjured up by his mind or not. He will not have his order be defiled by the same person twice without bloodshed to make an example. Feilong is no exception.

_W . . . What the hell was that all about?_ Still lying slumped on the couch with a half erection swelling inside of his pants Feilong struggled to pull himself together. He glanced down to see his cheongsam ruffled and drenched in cold sweat. _Did the bastard really just walk away?_ Did his feeble resistance won over a battle for him? Feilong laughed at himself for the naivety in that question. As if it could have been that easily. "First a getaway vacation and then this, the bastard must be harboring some kind of twisted scheme." Feilong muttered, dragging himself into the bathroom before staring at his reflection in the mirror. Whatever Yanzhui has in store for him he did not want to think about it right now. No, the ugly truth is he could less about it. He was at the bottom pit of hell the day Yanzhui found him at the warehouse. He was hauled and manhandled into the back of a truck with a thick chain around his neck and wrists like some kind of lost dog to the /br/

That memory stung him as though it had just happened yesterday. After removing his clothes Feilong stepped into the shower, turning the water straight to the rush icy coldness in hope of calming his body down and the inner turmoil, however improbable it could be. He simply stood there, using both hands up against the wall for support and slowly allowed the water to work its magic.

_Maybe, just maybe, the idea of a weekend getaway won't be so bad_, Feilong tried to convince himself so. He needed a break from this awful place, needed some kind of distraction, anything that could make him forget about the presence. But the idea became so dull to him then. If he should start relax, or acting grateful to Yanzhui's offer, that bastard might take it as that it is okay to 'use him up' then patch up the wound with a nice little treat later. Feeling nothing pleasant about the matter Feilong shifted his thought elsewhere.

Fresh pain clutched at his heart as the face of a certain Russian flashed into mind. "Mikhail," Feilong whispered the name between his shivering breaths. The water went from alleviating his sexual arousal to small needles impaling on his delicate skin, ruthless and unyielding. "Mikhail, Misha . . ." Prior to the disastrous event Feilong walked up to him declaring that it was over between the two of them. The break-up wasn't supposed to be permanent. _Permanent_—the word rung inside of Feilong's skull as a reminder him of his foolishness, cruel and taunting altogether. Feilong thought he should have told Mikhail the truth. He received threats about Yanzhui's come back. He wanted to deal with the despicable monster that had haunted and destroyed his childhood by himself. If he had told the truth then maybe the Russian would understand, respect his decisions and back off. Wrapping the long, delicate fingers around the faucet the Feilong readjusted the water to a milder temperature. As much as he wants to stay within the wall of cold water and never step out again Feilong knew he cannot afford to catch a cold now. Yanzhui will be furious. Nothing good ever come from infuriating the man. Those were a few of many lessons he learned from the bastard's 'hospitality.'

"Misha—I wonder what is he doing right now," it was true that he missed the Russian man, a lot—_as if I'd admit it if I do see him again_.

With the shampoo oil in one hand Feilong ran over his hair quickly. A sigh of contentment escaped his throat as he felt the black strands sleek and clean between his fingers. He loved it whenever Mikhail brushes his hair. Every movement was full of tenderness and honest admiration he'd never thought could exist within the dark underworld. Since the day he was born there have been only three people so far who can touch him that way. Mikhail was unquestionably one of them. It's funny how such a simple gesture of affection can bring so much warmth to his heart.

"Mikhail Arbatov—"

_Back when birds cannot fly and the sky was grey_  
><em>Heaven was within my reach when I am with you<em>_._

"Feilong-sama, are you in there? It's us, Mei and Jun, Feilong-sama." The sudden knocks on the bathroom door jolted him back to reality. Through the thick clouds of water vapor and heat he heard the voice clearly. "Feilong-sama," "You can stop knocking now, Mei. I will be right out in a minute,"_ they're here already?_—replied Feilong with a groan while turning off the faucet. He then steps out with white robe around his body and the wet black hair was tangled messily within a large towel. From the corner of his amethyst optic he saw Mei busily arranging his meal, picking up one dish after another off the tray and onto the table. Jun was standing nearby the doors to Feilong's bedroom with three empty suitcases next to him. The boy gave him a gracious bow before speaking. "Feilong-sama, according to Yanzhui-sama's order I am here to help Mei-chan with your packing for the upcoming flight tomorrow." The boy kept his head hung low and gaze on the ground as if waiting for his master's approval, Feilong's approval.

Mei Chan and Jun Chan were the two current servants personally appointed to him by Liu Yanzhui. The two of them were no older than 16-year-old and he simply could not understand what Yanzhui see in them to give them such positions under Feilong in the household. True, Mei and Jun were very mature and competent for their age, just like Tao—no, scratch that, there was something about these two children that have been bothering him since the day they met. How should he put it . . . _they do not have the gleam of innocence in their eyes like Tao._

Shaking his head lightly Feilong scowled at himself at that thought. _For God's sake, they're just children_, he reminded himself. "Feilong-sama?—"Jun boldly took a step forward and asked if something is wrong. Mei turned around as well and looked at her Feilong-sama with curiosity. Feilong could hear the sincere anxiety from the boy, and he began to wonder what led him to doubt about them in the first place. _I'm getting way too jumpy for my own good_. Feilong gave them a genuine smile, assuring the two that everything was fine—that there was nothing to worry about. Nothing, _right?_ Right.

"I am so excited of the trip tomorrow!" Mei exclaimed merrily, shattering the lament atmosphere around Feilong as she went on ranting about all the wondrous western food and sparkling swimming pool and pretty new dress that she'd get to try once they get there. Jun narrowed his eyes at the girl, gesturing with a stern expression that said he will report this unacceptable behavior to master Yanzhui later if she does not stop now. Feilong paused from drying his hair with the towel. He spun around with a surprised expression at what he just heard.

"Wait, the two of you are coming also?" Why was he surprised? Mei and Jun have been at his service for almost half a year now so it was only natural that Yanzhui would allow them to accompany him. They have come to learn how he likes his morning tea, light meal, choice of cheongsam clothing down to the Haiku poetries he enjoyed reciting during the leisure time he had to himself. But for Yanzhui to actually indulge the children with a fancy feast and gifts is beyond weird. It is freakishly bizarre, preposterous and sinister! Feilong asked the child again if she was just exaggerating. She shook her head vigorously and claimed that master Yanzhui had indeed promised and gave his words to them so. "Alright, I take it back. One can never be too jumpy enough." _That bastard is really planning something cynical! _


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: Feilong, Yanzhui, Mikhail, Yoh & Tao belong to Yamane Ayano sensei, the rest belong to me. .  
><strong>Central Pairings: <strong>FeilongxMikhail. [For this chapter, Mikhail and Godric]  
><strong>Rating:<strong> M | **Warning:** Drug preference.

**Note:** BXMT no. 1090 is a fictional drug, _obviously._ Its name was derived from botulinum the deadly toxin and 1090 happened to by my favorite number. The drug's effect, however, will be based on the actual thing with minor alteration into my own liking. I'm still not so sure if I should give it a blood spewing effect or not, though. So I guess that is a big give-away spoiler into the future chapter. xD Please review and tell me what you think. Any suggestion or recommendation for the next chapter is welcomed as well. :]

**Eastern Moskva River, Moscow**

Shimmering orbs of light glowed against the night sky at the heart of the Moscow city. The majestic Stasja Palace stood solemnly with its elegant reflection on the surface of the nearby river, bathing in the dancing light streaming out from each and every colossal window and spacious balcony. The Stasja Palace was recently constructed with the original foundation based on the Peterhof Palace of 1707s. Under the power influence, its property rights and authority were signed off and became an official real estate property to the Arbatov family, more specially, it belongs to no other than Mikhail Arbatov, the young leader of the prime Russian mafia and an expect figure of the underworld. Coincidentally enough today was not only a celebration of its royal birth, but it was also for honoring the Arbatov's grand come-back after the disastrous event involved countless death of innocent people and heavy crash of its Russian economy. Men and women of many different ethics dressed in fancy attires could be seen chattering around the vast fountain and the grand cascade. There were a good number of high ranked officials, governmental agents, and even the ones who deal with illegal and shade underworld businessmen here as well.

Inside the royal palace the main event took place at the Main Morozov Hall. Golden light emitted from a single colossal, custom made vintage 48 light European Brass chandelier, the pure crystal prisms whose surface bounced off rays of copper and ivory and scarlet hue at every corner of the hall interpreted an alluring sense of high class and luxury. There were many large classical paintings on the walls that one can feast his eyes on; they generally ranged from as early as the 1760s to the late 1900s. There were pieces from famous Russian painters of all time such as Valery Jacobi, Dmitry Levitzky, Vladimir Borovikovsky, Karl Briullov, etc. When the Stasja Palace was finished building, Mikhail Arbatov made sure that he'd get his hands on the original copies of the artwork regardless of the price, or the gossip from other royal families who also had their heart set on the work. But one can also find the Russian avant-garde in other various rooms however the accesses were strictly limited to the few trusted people.

Standing at the center of the main Morozov Hall was Mikhail Arbatov, the man whose figure symbolized the renowned Russian clan. The man looked absolutely stunning in the Enzo Tovare suit, and the golden curls hung loosely at the nape of his neck that seemed almost unruly but amazingly tempting for a touch no less. The women just could not seem to take their eyes of the blond Russian. They keep trying to walk up to him for a conversation but the man would simply brush them off effortlessly. Before the disaster economy strike, there have been rumors about him breaking up with some underworld figure of the same status. It was a painful sight to behold, they whispered, watching a man as powerful and handsome as Mikhail Arbatov so broken, sought after murdering foreign enemies and turned the entire nation upside down as an attempt to ease the pain in his heart and soul. As much as many women wanted to help fill in his empty void they were afraid for their own safety. Mikhail Arbatov's wrath was indiscriminate. Even his family members dared not say a word to him, or lift a finger to stop his rampage.

"I am honored to be here today, Mr. Arbatov. You have done a marvelous job on this Stasja Palace and the artworks were simply exquisite and breathtaking," the silver-haired businessman from a local wealthy Russian family commented, smiling a board smile as he clashed his drink with the blond Russian merrily.

"The honor is mine, Mr. Borovsky." Mikhail nodded, sipping his drink casually. His baby blue eyes remained cold and emotionless during their entire conversation. If it wasn't for the need to check up on the legal business, or the need to keep in contact with the lesser people working under him Mikhail would have leave the place hours ago. He was only half listening to the man ranting on and on about the socialist realism innovated during the late Soviet era and the banned patriotic and anti-fascist work in the 1940s and all the unbelievably hopeless crap that made him feel like being in a middle of a lecture hall. Maybe it was just the slight headache that was causing him to lose his cool appearance. Luckily the suffering moment soon came to an abrupt end.

"I see that the injury wasn't as bad as I have hoped," a voice came from behind caught the blond Russian's attention. Turning around to acknowledge the American before him dressed in a lavish Richard Harris Italian black suit, white shirt underneath and a silver grey tie around the collar. Neatly trimmed golden hair, thick brows above a pair of roughly framed cerulean optics and square jaw, one may say that this striking man was a pure-bred American businessman. His charisma could surpass even that of the Russian himself if it wasn't for the maturity and the air of an experienced genius whose ability to play the role of a lawyer, drug smuggler and head of several worldwide clandestine research facilities rivaled only by very few selective individuals.

"Looking good there, Mr. Arbatov—have you been well?"

There were several grasps from the people, men and women alike. For an ephemeral moment it reminded him of a certain Chinese triad leader, whose presence can assert a similar, only about ten times more powerful than this kind of reaction from the crowd like that. And his heart cringed almost painfully when he realized that the person wasn't who he had hoped to be. _What the hell was I thinking?_ His expression hardened into the most amiable smile as he could possibly muster.

"What a delightful surprise. It is good to see you, too, Mr. Wallenberg," ignoring the rueful remark the Russian extended to shake his hand with him. "I have been well. What about you?" By a normal standard the American would be considered a classic handsome man. But his magnetic attractiveness, in Mikhail's opinion, was far inferior to the Liu Feilong of Baishe. There was, perhaps, a time in his youth when the sight of the blond American made his blood prurient and torrid. But now standing here in civil proximity and casual contact he felt nothing. Time weakens attraction but strengthens friendship, someone had told him that. It was quite a wise axiom, indeed.

"Do allow me to introduce—Mr. Borovsky, this is Mr. Godric Wallenberg. Wallenberg, Mr. Igor Borovsky."

It was for the better not to use their first name at this moment. Even though the Wallenberg family and Arbatov organization were part of an extremely exclusive alliance it is not wise to show how close they actually were. Exclusivity can offer extra boost of power like nothing else can but it can also create all sort of unnecessary drama. And with his sexual orientation known to the public, the last thing the great Mikhail Arbatov needs was a scandal running around, degrading his name or reputation. Before he would have cared less—especially if it was a scandal with a certain Dragon of Baishe; on the contrary, he would be flattered and proud to let the whole world know that he was in an intimate relationship with the Chinese triad leader. It would send a clear message to the people that his Dragon was off limit. His Dragon, His Beloved, and most importantly His Liu Feilong—could anything sound as glorious and sweet as that . . .

The formal greetings went on for less than one full minute. Then they proceeded to inquire each other about their respective 'legal' local business, affiliation with the royal Russian family and all the other mundane topics that were luring him into the brink of insane boredom. He made no attempt to contribute to the conversation and fortunately enough the Borovsky man's cell phone rung, he looked at the screen and then excused his presence to attention some 'personal urgent matter.'

Finally a moment of peace, Mikhail sat back down on a black leather sofa close to a large window. "Thought I was going to put a bullet between his eyes had the goddamned cell ring two seconds later." He heard the American chuckled aloud next to him. "So the wound was not all that bad, but your boring-simpleton tolerance and social skills have deteriorated drastically instead." Drawing a premium Montecristo No. 2 to between his lips Godric lit the cigarette and settled himself down on the seat across the blond Russian. Grey clouds of smoke rolled down on the broad knuckles before ascending into the air above them, and joint together with the turbulent torrents of music.

"This is quite a fancy carousal, celebrating the Arbatov's impressive recovery, and whatnot. I was expecting a few . . . other individuals to be here as well. Perhaps they did not make it or a reason or another?" He has been scanning the room for awhile now and felt no necessity to hide his disappointment, or the need to elaborate his inquiry. Mikhail knew full well whom he was talking about.

"The invitations were sent to all those who are worthy to participate," an annoyed look crossed the blond Russian. "But whether they want to show up or not is a different story. I am in a good mood today, so I decide to spare their shortcoming incompetency for a change." It was not entirely true, they both knew that. At such celebration there was no sight of any Chinese or Japanese businessmen and governors. It was unusual for those two influential parties to be excluded from the gathering. It can be really bad for the underworld business partnership and support in the harsh marketing world.

_That's the Arbatov for you, never does things the way they suppose to._

"What a shame." Godric kept his response short. A few butlers strolled past by holding out silver trays; the Russian asked the American if he would like to try out the delicacy. Perhaps a golden Khalva, a slice of Bienenstich, or a roll of Cannoli Siciliani—Godric thought over and reached out hand for a glass of Gordon Gin. "Simplicity is the best in its purest form," he complimented. The taste of the wondrous juniper berry on his tongue was heavenly when mixed with the leftover spice of the Montecristo No. 2 smoke. The small piece of citrus added a fine complementary sweetness to it.

"Glad it was to your liking," said Mikhail nonchalantly. "So, Godric, have you any major breakthrough in the world of drug?" He asked with feigned interest. "The package you sent last week was adequate but I must confess, I was expecting a lot more from you, Godric."

"The ones I sent you was the latest protocol formula," the American paused on his drink. "The BXMT no. 1090 could use a little more finishing touch to ensure that it will not show up during the autopsy 100%. Even though the result you sent back to my lab was rather . . . lovely," he chuckled. "I'd like to keep the formula for some more testing before making an official prescription on it."

If Mikhail Arbatov was surprised by the American's reaction then he sure did not show any of it. If anything, he found it amusing to no end. For the man in front of him was the perfect combination of two opposing forces. He is a respectable lawyer whose dark side of the moon is a notorious drug dealer. "Of course," said Mikhail when the blond American was finishing off his drink. "It will be an honor to be the first prescriber of the product before it makes it name on the black market." Now it was the Russian's turn to snicker as his baby blue eyes gleamed dangerously behind the golden strands. The so-called 'sample' from the Wallenberg family's research lab was more than just adequate. The face of the unfortunate 'tester' distorted in an unimaginable agony before collapsing on the cold steel floor sent a rush of utterly sadistic excitement down his spine, the kind he hadn't felt for a long time ever since his humanity was brought back to life by the Dragon .

Yes, Feilong made him feel alive and whole.  
>Nothing was ever the same when Feilong walked into his life.<br>It would be a lie if he says he does not want to relive those beautiful days right here, right now . . .

"Who said anything about black market?" Hearing the curious inquiry Mikhail arched an eyebrow questioningly. "I'm placing the BXMT no. 1090 under extreme exclusivity and restrict its production for the top secret missions from America, Russia and Switzerland. It is a valuable asset. My people have spent more than five years perfecting it. And I am not about to risk letting someone develop an antidote against it. I do not deal with chances, no matter how slim or none," Godric explained with hint of playfulness in his tone, like a child being possessive of his toy. But his cerulean eyes were deadly serious. _What a waste then_, Mikhail nodded without further comment. _Such a fine creation it was, too. I was going to reap a couple of millions off of the final product on the black market, but it is good to know I now have a reason not to. _The red liquid swirled around gently in the blond Russian's glass of wine. Initially he wanted to have a relaxing time at this gathering with his childhood best friends, but they ended up discussing about the illegal drug dealing instead. It couldn't be help since he was the one started the conversation. Maybe now would be a good time to talk about something else that it not as depressing or boring. But about what ?

"By the way, I met up with Hailey about a week ago. Let just say she proposed a business deal with a Chinese underworld figure and they both required a little of my assistance. She said that the man agreed to come over to discuss the profit exchange," Godric paused as he brought the silky Connecticut shaded cigarette to his lips, waiting for a response from the blond Russian and when he saw none, he was compel to continue. "I wasn't interested at first, not because of what you are probably thinking right now," the second part of the statement was spoken with dreary reassurance. "Simply, I did not think it was worth the value and what I stand for as a lawyer."

"Value, you said? What you stand for as a lawyer? Seriously, Godric, at least put in some real decent effort when you want to tell a lie," The blond Russian sneered. It was not exactly a joke. Sometimes he wonders if Godric was just doing it on purpose because knew that Mikhail will be able to see right through him one way or another. But that does not mean he should ridicule himself that way.

The blond American's expression remains unchanged however; his eyes were calculating and studying the Russian. What he was about to share with him will come a surprise, a pleasant one, maybe. But it can also be a shock as well, an extremely unpleasant one no less. "The meeting is going to be at the hotel suite of coastal Georgia. Yanzhui is bringing Feilong there as well." It was direct and straight to the point.

The sound of glass crackling under the blond Russian's knuckles stung everybody else in the room and Godric found himself clamping his teeth heavily on the cigar to stop from flinching. Refusing to acknowledge the mixed emotions in those baby blue eyes, the American held his gaze fiercely, allowing the news to settle in for a little longer. Curious mummers and low whispers were aloof the crowd. Neither one of them pay any attention to them. Godric gave one of the men dressed in black next to him a silent command. He watched as the underling took a few others with him and walked hurriedly away to dismiss the people's stare. A few minutes everybody was back to what they were doing before. Someone turned the music volume higher but the song was changed to a slower, loving feel one, keeping the people's attention but also enough to allow the two men to speak without distraction.

_The wound has not healed at all, has it? To whom is your anger directing to—Feilong, or that bloody son of a bitch Yanzhui, Misha?_

Reaching into his pocket Godric tossed a small handkerchief next to the Russian. "Wipe it up, you idiot. You really are a ticking time bomb you know that?" He couldn't help but complained he had to hold himself back from adding 'whenever his name is mentioned.' Of course, as this dangerous and irrational Russian's best childhood friend and crime partner, Godric Wallenberg was fully aware of Mikhail's relationship with the Chinese triad leader, along with some other prior intimate relationships which probably no other individual outside of their circle knew about. Including the one he had with that person, too. . .

Mikhail had a good idea of what the American was about to say when he heard the words 'Chinese underworld figure,' but he had hoped that he was wrong. There were many small yet wealthy crime organizations within China whose illegal business exchange could bring considerable profit to a man like Godric, and Hailey. But he knew better. For Godric to specifically bring it up like that it had to be the one crime organization Mikhail had in mind. It just had to be and he dreaded it. "Since when did you start signing paper with a scumbag like that?" _Since when did I give you the fucking permission to?_—that was what Mikhail's question sounded like to the American.

"I have less than zero intention in partaking in the business deal if that's what you mean. I only agreed to come tagging along," replied Godric calmly, shrugging his shoulders before he takes another deep inhale of the smoke. It wasn't entirely true but there was no lie in it either. "I will turn it down as soon as the exchange starts." Will it annoy Hailey, yes—will he make a different decision otherwise, no. Mikhail hadn't told him much about this Liu Yanzhui, but he sensed unwanted trouble and disaster reeking off from that man the first time Godric saw him. That Chinese man looked like the type who'd go after what he wants regardless of what the price or sacrifice is. Yanzhui would have make a good business tool to him, _if only he hadn't been fucking incompetent enough to go after Liu Feilong, that fool_. He was Mikhail Arbatov's one and absolute object of desire.

"Another reason I want to go with Hailey was because of you anyway." Ten years ago when he first laid his eyes on the magnificent Dragon, he understood immediately. Liu Feilong was indeed a man worthy for the great Mikhail Arbatov to fall head over tail for, _literally and figuratively_. Glancing up at the blond Russian he saw a slight hint of confusion. Sighing softly Godric placed down his Montecristo No. 2 cigarette next to the ash tray and leaned back against the black sofa comfortably. "Before she and I finalize anything, I told the woman to make an extra reservation on the best villa the place has to offer and that I will pay the expense out of my own pocket," meeting the pair of blood chilling eyes before himself Godric worded his request carefully:

"I want you to come with me to Georgia—to reclaim him and make the bastard pay for what he had committed against your beloved."  
>Again, Godric had seen to it avoid saying the trigger words. It might still be too soon. <em>I've been standing aside watching long enough.<em>

_Reclaim_. The quiet whisper from the man's still lips did not go unnoticed by the American.

To reclaim something means that it was once yours to begin with, even if it was only for a mere second. But Fei has never been his, has he? They've shared precious moments together, learned many secrets about each other's dark past and upbringing, and whispered the beautiful lies they wish could have been real and the promises they could fulfill one day. But it wasn't enough. Never had—_probably never will._

"What goes on between Feilong and I is none of your concern, Godric Wallenberg," the narrow, root like splits on the frail glass were distorted some more, sufficient for a splinter to pierce deeper into his skin but not enough for the nonmetallic red liquid to leak out just yet. He couldn't explain the sudden rush of an aberrant, unfamiliar rage inside of him. The clip from a year ago began to roll in his mind as he heard Feilong's words echoing, hollow and apathetic. He thought he understood his Feilong more than anyone else. He believed that he had gotten used to those cruel words and impassive demeanor. And the Dragon proved him just how wrong he was.

Feilong chose to exit on the same day he walked into his life.

"I have businesses to run, armed force to reinforce, and enemies to eliminate. I have time to spare over such trivial matter." _Feilong was far, far from trivial_, a tiny voice mocked him. The worst part was he knew that it was true. The Dragon of Baishe held a dominant place in his heart and he simply could not bear to replace him with anybody else no matter how hard he tried_. It must the heaven's way to condemn its victim for falling for God's greatest creation_. During the course of his emotional and physical recovery from the massive injury shortly acquired from the fatal incident followed by the painful break up, that person came back to his life, tried to offer affection and comfort. Mikhail knew he needed a distraction and the offer was exceedingly tempting. But he turned a blind eye on it as soon as he learned about that person's involvement with Godric, unofficially and unbeknown to the publicity of course but he could not bring himself to care. Everything was a major fucking mess for him.

"Besides," successfully collected his composure the Russian attempted to end the topic, leaving no room for a second thought. "Judging the reports from the moles Feilong seems to be doing rather well. Asides form having to share the Baishe's leadership, he still reside within the royal manor with no actual or life-threatening harm. So tell me this, what was there to worry about?" The American knew better than to answer the rhetorical question. Even though they have drifted apart for a long time the Mikhail Arbatov sitting in front of him was the same as ever. He didn't have to waste his energy analyze that cold tone to know that the question was not to be answered or else.

Godric shifted in his seat, his stoic face was still perfectly in place as he debated with his inner voice whether he should tell Mikhail about the truth about situation between Yanzhui and Feilong. Slowly, but surely, he was beginning to wonder if it was wrong to take the matter into his own hand so much. His decision to book a reservation for him to reconcile with Feilong was one lying up right against the man's limit and tolerance. If he continued to press on, he might not get to leave this place in one piece. When it comes to the Liu Feilong of Baishe nothing stands on the dangerous Russian's way—not even their 15 years of friendship and sworn brotherhood. . .

An impulsive tug of bitterness and abomination caught his breath inside his rib cage. Did that person felt it, too—while watching Mikhail choosing someone outside of the Trio over them, and suffering an unimaginable pain while they could do was to 'control the damage' at mutual discreet? _This is not good at all_, he scowled himself quietly. Meanwhile the Russian have had the broken glass dismissed to a summoned butler. The man looked confused and concerned but dared not say anything when he saw the look on his host, so he excused himself and scurried away. _So what of it? Misha needs Liu Feilong; I should be giving my assistance out of lucid good will, not getting agitated like this, it will be just plain pathetic. _He sucked on the expensive cigar harder and closed his eyes without letting the mask slip off, and hoped the toxic to ease up his mind.

Taking the white linen handkerchief the blond Russian wiped the blood off his bleeding palm. His movement was rough and tearing on the skin, but it managed to get rid of the sharp splinters nonetheless. Insignificant scratches, that's what they were to him. The little stinging sensation was nothing compared to what he went through, and still going through at this very moment. He could have let them bleed for the world to care if only he hadn't the important contract needs to be signed at later /br/

Mikhail wasn't entirely confident about what he just stated erstwhile. When the report was handed to him with the assigned men standing in the room, he inquired them sharply if the information was truly accurate. There was no way in seven layers of hell the Dragon would agree to share his throne with the bastard who scarred his childhood and crippled his self-esteem with his disgusting action and vile words. And it wasn't like Yanzhui to just settle for a second best disposition either. That cunning, depraved son of a bitch wanted Feilong. And the bastard sure has been spending more than half of his lifetime plotting for a come-back and ruining their fragile relationship along the way. This peaceful settlement was beyond improbable. _Simply unacceptable_, Mikhail snarled at the memory.

"The reservation is nonrefundable, you know," Mikhail's thought was interrupted when Godric spoke again, cool and collected as usual. He knew the lame little excuse will not make a difference whatever. It was only to lighten up the mood before he can try to persuade the blond Russian. If this was another ordinary business negotiation talking Mikhail into accepting the proposal would have been an easy task. But this was no ordinary negotiation. He has to change his strategy somehow. _Maybe a little sugar will do the trick?_ He tried to chuckle at that childish thought.

Mikhail sneered in pure contempt at the blond American. "One Chivas Regal on rock," he ordered. Within a beat the 1801' Scotch whiskey was already in his hand while resting his injured one next to his side. The blond American's interference with his personal life was starting to test his nerve, maybe one of these days he should remind the man of his place with a bullet in the limb or two. He took a gulp, washing down the brewing storm with the strong liquor. This has to be his tenth drink tonight. He could feel his golden eyelids growing heavier and the scene before him was getting blurry by each passing second. _To hell with the hangover_, taunted the Russian disdainfully. He will just have one of his trusted subordinate to sign the contract in his place like usual. If the annoying ambassadors have a problem with it, then they can just kiss their precious little peace alliance goodbye, and discover pieces of their so-called well protected families delivered to them within 24 hours.

"News traveled that you 'combed' the entire Eastern Europe of its little pests and strengthened the Russian insider force. The bond and stock were going up quite generously as well. All there was for you to do is to sit back and take the profit. So with the commotion died down and business running solid again, it would not hurt to take a break now, would it?" The American knew he was pushing his luck. It was time to borrow a little power and put the once untouched privilege harvested from their sworn affinity into a good use.

"The suite you will be occupying at is not that close to the one he'll be staying either. And before you ask, the answer is neither one. You do not have to attend the profit exchange nor must you speak to him throughout the trip at all if it is painful to do so. The opportunity will be there. It is yours to take, or leave." _After all you have done and sacrificed for him giving up like this makes the rest of us look bad anyway. However, we will respect your decision. Just like we have respected you ten years ago._

"Nevertheless, the plane leaves within three days. At least think about it over, little brother." Noticing the disoriented, languid look in those baby blue eyes Godric knew that he has to conclude the negotiation as soon as possible. He has no desire to drag this on tomorrow's morning. The deadly hangover will only send the Russian into a berserk mode void of all emotion and consideration for those around him. Only a fool would dare to approach him in such condition. Within his peripheral the blond Russian saw the other sliding a single baronial envelope across the table. He took a brief moment allowing his mind to interpret the glowing sunset's amber hued royal crest imprinted on the center, and his full name etched elegantly under it. His full name . . .

Godric Wallenberg was imploring him do accept it as a favor between two powerful, vindictive underworld figures instead of a simple courtesy between two good friends.

"Hailey and I will be waiting for you at the airport. Try to make it there before six, think you can do that much?" He glanced down to the Rolex watch, and sighed. "I believe my obligation here is done," with that said the American stood up, crushed the cigar in the ash tray and adjusted his suit quietly.

"Goodnight, Mikhail V. Arbatov."


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Rebuild The SandCastle **_Chapt. 03_****_  
><em>****Central Pairings: **FeilongxMikhail.  
><strong>Rating:<strong> K+ | **Spoilers:** N/A | **Warning**: Mature language, first exposition/interpretation of the theme Sandcastle.  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: Feilong, Mikhail, Yanzhui Yoh & Tao belong to Yamane Ayano sensei, the rest belong to me.

**Note:** First thing first: S. O. S. does _not_ stand for international code signal of extreme distress, used esp. by ships at sea. It is a code, but it stands for something totally different. This new original S. O. S. for RTS fic was inspired by an episode from the CSI: Miami TV-show and the only spoiler I can give away for this third chapter.

**Liu Real Estate, Hong Kong**

"Pack however you want to. Do not place the silver and black cheongsam at the bottom, though, they tend to get wrinkle rather quickly."

Opening the second wardrobe Fei Long halted and stared at the collection of prestigious Italian attires and suits, most of which still have price tags on them, and some fresh with the scent of rich material and from the stores that they came from, as if they have just been shipped in yesterday. Fei Long hadn't bothered to check the wardrobes much since he figures that he would not be stepping outside anytime soon. _Anytime soon_, was that the right word to describe it?

Many times he had thought about snatching a gun from one of the guard and murder Yan Zhui before he could react. But every time his determination wilted as soon as he saw the amount of bodyguards encircling the hall, greatly outnumbered him, and to make it worst, Mei and Jun rarely ever leave his side unless the condescending evening session of inhuman abuse, heinous torture and intolerable humiliation. When he was able to collect himself and analyze the situation for the first time, Fei Long realized the purpose of assigning these two young valets: They were here to remind him of what would happen to Tao if he should bare his fangs against his brother.

"Don't take too long with it," Fei Long walked back to the other room without further comment. There was nothing further to explain. This was no difficult task for Jun; simply time consuming that's all.

Once, he sent one of his trusted subordinate to find out Tao's location and rescue him to somewhere safe, out of Yan Zhui's reach, preferably out of China. Then report back to him. Fei Long never hears back from that man and after one week past, he suffered. The wounds have healed but the new scars did not completely go away. It was one of a few physical pains inflicting moments that crippled his hope and strength like no other. Yan Zhui did not tell him if he had the boy taking a share of his punishment or not. Grabbing his left arm Fei Long shuddered at the painful flashback of that horrendous night. Yan Zhui broke him down the minute he threatened his treasured boy's well being in the cruelest possible way, claiming that if that was what it takes to make him learn his lesson, _then so be it_. Oh, how he had wept, and begged on the cold steel floor at his brother's feet when his barely conscious, numbing pain rendered mind began to make sense of the meaning in those words.

"Fei Long-sama, Fei-Long-sama—" will the flash back ever stop? No, the question is: Will there ever be another one? He shook his head, tried to return to the peace and enjoyment the reality at this moment had to offer, and he turned to see Mei holding out a silver plate to him with what seemed to be a western-inspired treat on it.

"Tonight's desert is chocolate raspberry torte! It tastes really good and the chief told me it is one of the best in Hong Kong yet!"

Fei Long was never one for the fruity sweetness, but seeing the expression on Mei's cherubic face uncanny resembles to Tao's made him nod with a hearty smile. Just like he could never truly say 'no' to the boy, unless it was something ridiculous like him dressing up as the Panda and Tao the Tigress from the goddamned Kungfu Panda movie for the seasonal parade on the street of Hong Kong, he could not do so to Mei. Fei Long graciously took a spoonful of the soft, ivory white tier with the layer of cherry red syrup on top into his mouth. He gave it a moment to savor the rich flavor coated with just the right amount of sweetness emitted by the natural raspberry component. The combination between two refined creamy textures expressed a sense of perfect balance, seemingly created by an exceptionally trained experience, and had his taste and tolerance in mind through each process as the torte was being made. As if it was made just for him . . .

_Not half bad at all_, Fei Long thought, calming his senses down from exaggerating over a simple desert.

"Do you like it, Fei Long-sama?"

"It tastes lovely, Mei. To whom do I owe a compliment?"

"It's chief Cheng, Fei Long-sama. He was hired not too long ago by Yanzhui-sama."

_And he picked out this recipe for you because he knows that you would like it_, that is what she wanted to say out loud but could not, master Yanzhui has forbid anyone from saying anything about his arrangement for the Dragon. While she felt no harm telling her Fei Long-sama the name of the chief, adding in the fact that Cheng was hired by master Yanzhui without even thinking twice might just get her into a serious trouble.

Fei Long's brow burrowed heavily upon hearing the information. "I see." Without warning his generous appetite was completely drained from him the minute he heard his brother's name and once this does, he doubts that he would be able to finish the rest of the torte without vomiting it all out later at night. "He hired a personal chief for me? How flattering," the sarcasm was directed to himself rather than the young valet. Fei Long sipped the tea quietly, no doubt using it to wash away the lingering taste of raspberry and syrup, to which they were stubbornly clinging to the inside of his mouth and throat.

"Tell Cheng that he did a fine job on the torte." The end of the meal was marked the minute he placed down the spoon. He could see he look of disappointment and sadness taking over Mei's once happy smile. But just as he has expected, his former triad leader's icy cold self disconnected his mind from feeling anything for the girl. Glancing over to the master bedroom, Fei Long wondered what has been taking Jun so long. Just when Fei Long was about to dismiss the young female valet first, he heard the words that held less than zero meaning to him . . .

"Yanzhui-sama loves Fei-sama –" the girl's unhesitant, quiet whisper almost had Fei Long choked on his tea.

_Where in the bloody the hell did that came from? _

"What makes you say that, Mei?" Fei Long could not stop himself from wondering what sort of bizarre, repulsive ideas the sick bastard has been feeding to a child like Mei Chan.

The girl looked up from the table and met his gaze nervously. "It's just that—he talks about Fei-sama a lot. He always ask me and Jun what you think about the supper, if you have a good night of sleep, which shampoo do you find to your liking the most. . . if the wound on your shoulder still hurt," that last, barely audible statement stung him mercilessly. The wound on his shoulder-is it possible that Yanzhui knows he has no right to ask him of such a thing so he decided to send a child to get an answer instead? _How fucking brilliant__._ It took him every ounce of self-discipline and strength to not laugh or sneer in bitterness.

"Mei," the harsh tone caused the little girl to flinch. She quickly bowing her head low and waiting with a dreaded anticipation for the man to reproach her or send her straight out of the room. Even though Feilong has been a gracious, kindhearted master and she have never once witness his public outburst of anger before, Mei should have known better than to speak so recklessly in front of him like that. Her big mouth always seems to bring bad luck whenever she opens them. Upsetting Fei Long-sama means upsetting Yanzhui-sama, the grim realization made her knees trembled. Would Fei-sama tell Yanzhui-sama about this? The thought scared her to no end and she would already feels the tears swelling up. She prayed silently that she could hold them back until she was dismissed out of the room, whenever that might be.

Fei Long sighed in defeat, feeling somewhat ashamed that he just lost control over his voice like that.

"Do not speak that name in my presence unless you absolutely have to. Did I make myself clear?" He felt his own skin started to crawl beneath the silk cheongsam. Filth and disgust crippled his self-esteem further and further into the darkness. Those feelings unworthy for a brother from Yanzhui were merely an obsession, warped of any at all reality and honor. All it was capable of was to put the family into shame and taint the one who was subjected to its twisted desire, him. That man, that monster, he was nothing to him, nothing, let alone a brother. Not only did that family tie failed to offer any assistance in stopping Yanzhui from desiring him in the first place, it failed, miserably, to protect him from being torn apart and taken over and over, _and over again_ . . .

"Yes, Fei Long-sama," when the Chinese Dragon did not respond Mei knew immediately that it was time to rid of her own presence as well. But not daring to move from where she was standing unless given a direct order, and Jun have just finished on the last suitcase as he could be seen dragging and pulling it out of Feilong-sama's master bedroom.

"Fei Long-sama, all four are ready to be brought downstairs for the tomorrow. Do you need anyth—"

"It's almost past nine," Feilong cut him off abruptly, his voice impatient and ragged under the crushing pressure leftover by the recent event. "You and Jun, you both may leave, now," he placed the cup down on the table and turned his body away from the violent, clanking sound made upon collision. The powerful surge of despair was threatening to burst out of his chest. And he did not need these two children to be here when he really lost it. Fei Long swung himself off the couch and headed straight into the bedroom before slamming the doors close behind him. The brute force could have knock the flower vase in the corner of the room had Jun not ran over and caught it on time.

The girl, who was numbed from the urge to cry, proceeded to pick up the dishes, tea accessories and cleaned up the table all within two minutes before heading out. She refused to look at the boy who was still standing there, his half surprised and disturbed expression told her that she was in for an earful tonight.

"What happened back there?" _You just can't keep opinion to yourself can you?_ Jun asked irritatingly as they skipped down the quiet hall brusquely. The last time Fei Long sent them out like that was when his forearms and knees had a severe third degree burn, and he refused to let them apply the oilmen. The struggling and thrashing were beyond what they could handle. Master Yanzhui had to send in half a dozen of his subordinates to restrain him before Mei or he could to approach. Even now thinking about it causes an unfamiliar feeling inside of Jun. Even though he did not like Fei Long at first, or rather, he found the man's unsociable personality matched his own and it irritated him to no end. But things have begun to change, not drastically, but surely.

"I told Fei Long-sama that Cheng was the new chief." The empty dishes on the tray rattled.

"That's it? You honestly want me to believe that was all it took for him to flip the switch?"  
><em>Oh, great, what exactly am I trying to accomplish by making a stupid joke?<em>

"Please don't talk that way about him—," the girl's steps came to a stop. Staring down at the unfinished torte she began to whimper and she held the tray closer. "It was my fault; I spoke out of my place. I know what he is to Yan Zhui-sama but I just can't stand seeing him like that, they are both our masters and I don't want to see either one of them hurt or sad."

A single drop of tear rolled down the side of her cheek. Fei Long has been very kind to me and Jun, and so had Yan Zhui, even though the older Chinese man took them into this house solely for the mission she did not want to be a part of, at first.

"You big idiot," Jun shook his head disapprovingly. They have to report to their master soon and now he has to stand here, reprimanding and consoling a crying 15-year-old. "He is our master's younger brother," it was not a lie, but it was not the truth either. Jun was an intelligent boy for his age and he knew far more things in life than he should. But under Liu Yanzhui's command since he was only nine-year-old, he did.

"Our job is to attend to his daily need and room service when he is not around. When there is serious danger, one option is for one of us report the situation and wait for further instruction, or we S. O. S. I myself sincerely hope that we would never have to resort to the second option but God forbid, Mei," Jun sighed heavily. "If you cannot focus and keep letting your feelings getting in the way, not even I will be able to cover for you—and you will fail both master Fei Long and Yanzhui. You do not want that to happen, do you?"

Mei felt the other wiping away her tear using the tip of his long sleeve. "No, never—never,"

"I won't report you today, but please promise me that you won't do that again, Mei. Promise me." The girl nodded in response. Mei was expecting a harsh lecture from Jun about her responsibility and role in the Liu family. But seeing how he was being so considerate and worried for her, it only made her feel guiltier.

"Alright, let's bring this to the kitchen quickly and you wash your face. When we get to master Yan Zhui, let me do the talking." She nodded again without answering. But Jun's brutally direct words stayed in her mind and she found herself dwelling on the question even as they stood in front of the work office. Neither the bodyguards paid them any attention more than an acknowledgement of their routinely arrival.

After hearing a short response from the other side after he has knocked on the wooden door, three times and firm, the two figures entered without hesitation. The older Chinese man was standing against a tall bookshelf with what appeared to be a literature book in his hand. Between the usual silence and the brilliant light streaming down from the ceiling, Jun took in a quick observation of the artwork on the left wall and the books on the shelves across the room. Each bronze frame portrays a battlefield from different time period in China's history, and glorious red. Strangely enough there was no victory pose in any of them. There were only soldiers, weapons, fire, bloodshed, and trampled flags. Neither he nor Mei, who was also observing with the same discretion and skill as his, could fathom those dark paintings.

But they did not have his attention for long, what struck Jun most every time he steps into this confined space was the peculiar order of small statues and novels. The novels closer to the left hand side leaned towards the left, the ones closer to the right up against the right. The small decoration various in all size and shape and colors among the books did the exact same thing: All of them were positioned facing outward into the space beyond the stoic shelve. Yet they looked like they were moving inward as well, coming in together for one single point. Just as Jun was enchanted by the fluent pattern his eyes settled on the golden sculpture.

Built for memories, for those who were blest to join together to create it, Mei recalled listening to the similar lines from her mother. She felt sharply contrasted. But there was no regret to give when honesty wished to break free from the iron-clad obligation and feeling bled for what the heart thought was worthy for such treason.

Beautiful and yet fragile under the unrelenting force of crashing waves, the proof of one's youthful and turbulent time, Jun rephrased a poem he once read from his father's collection at night. He felt a sting of vexation that he couldn't scratch away from deep down his heart and began to force his attention to his master before him.

_The sandcastle . . ._

"Has he retire for the night?" The cold emotion behind the question from Yan Zhui shattered the uncomfortable atmosphere.

His impassive gaze hovered upon the lotus garden outside of the window. The air of cold detachment hung heavily in the office and felt by the two who have just entered. He was fully aware of what was going on behind him. While he was tempted to give those two a disciplinary beating and punishment for allowing their focus to wander off elsewhere, not exactly elsewhere but a single focal point in the form of an ancient manifestation—he had to give some credit for their attempt to conceal what they were doing almost perfectly. To be able to stand there without moving a muscle, control their breathing steadily, keeping a composed and indifferent expression that could prove useful in the business world or when at a casino table, and mature patience—indeed they were trained well, but not enough just yet.

"Yes, he had, Yan Zhui-sama. He seems distressed; though, we were unable to deliver the luggage downstairs before he dismissed us." Jun answered truthfully, very little hint of emotion or concern that could have been mistaken for directing to himself, out of fear that his master will be displeased by this report and it will be him, and/or his partner who will have to suffer.

The Chinese man had simply chuckled. Low and empty.

"Be sure to awake an hour early than the usual routine schedule for tomorrow. And do not forget your duty," snapping the book close Yanzhui gave the two small figures behind him an impassive look without turning around. "The one ultimate mission that I entrust the two of you with—" the sentence was cruelly left unfinished. Taking his time to place down the novel on the desk Yan Zhui walked over to them.

He proceeded to pronounce each word slowly and deliberately, as if they might not understand otherwise. "Remember, S. O. S."

"Yes, Yan Zhui-sama." They answered in unison.

There were no stars glimmering or a moon shinning on the sky blacker than ink that night. The only feeble speckle of life he saw was from the occasional passing by helicopter, drifting and hovering lazily above the city of Hong Kong as if being carried by the wind out there. Lying back against the nightstand Fei Long held a pillow close to his chest, bracing himself tightly, not because of the coldness transpired by a night like this. It was nothing out of ordinary for him since the day his father was murdered. It was anticipation. At this very moment he was spending every ounce of energy and nerves to conjure up a strategy to take his brother down.

He was, after all, Liu Fei Long of Baishe. He was yet beaten down completely by Yan Zhui. His body had its chance to recover and his spirit alive. What happened months ago was only a temporary defeat, a catastrophic one, yes—but mistake and defeat can make one even stronger. During this oversea journey Yan Zhui will undoubtedly have less protection and control than he was in Hong Kong territory. Most of his men will stay behind to keep the organization going, mainly to watch over the people who remained loyal to him despites of the cruel treatments behind the dark cell. _Your decision to spare them is going to cost you dearly_, Fei Long assured.

There were quite a few major loopholes in his plan, such as how was he going to contact his men while oversea? Or, will he make his back to Hong Kong before his brother contact his own men and cause harm to Tao? And what about Mei and Jun—no, it should be relatively easy to lose them when they start enjoying themselves with presence and treat Yan Zhui had promised them.

Just as Fei Long was about to contemplate the matter further he began to drift into the welcoming arms of sleep.  
>Like any other nights—he saw was the silhouette of a certain blond Russian with baby blue eyes.<br>And he held onto it dearly as though it would be the last night he'll ever see it again.


End file.
